


Simultaneous Release

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letting go is the hardest part</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simultaneous Release

Mohinder’s reaction stings more than anything Sylar had expected. He had mentally prepared for the brigade of belligerent accusations, extreme insults of degradation; white-knuckled fists drawing blood from torturously pressed skin, and suffocating disappointment.

What Sylar receives instead does the impossible. It rips a piece of him. A ragged chip falls from his unbreakable form altering him forever and for the fifth or tenth, fiftieth or hundred and first time with Mohinder Sylar feels himself in freefall. Blind though he can see, Sylar figuratively searches for the clues that will tell him it is not as it seems.

With quiet desperation he quizzically interrogates Mohinder’s expression for something, anything: glistening eyes, a rush of blood, clenched teeth grinding across each other, anything; cracked words, pleading insults, sarcastic dismissals, something; bone encased in skin striking skin encased bone, the click of the trigger, the prick of metal through fallible barriers.

But there is no gun or syringe. Harsh words do not fill up the space between them. All Sylar sees is Mohinder’s blank face. The non-reaction confirms the aching worry he had not even considered until now.

For everything they have been through together, for all the insurmountable odds they have somehow overcome in their own way, Sylar’s latest, final act of betrayal has garnered nothing more than an impassive response, revealing that Mohinder is unsurprised by this turn of events. The notion that Mohinder sees nothing out of character, despite the collection of years they have amassed together, pains Sylar although he is careful not to show it.

This is how it should be, still the knowledge burns.

“Who was I kidding?” Sylar asks coolly, the space between them feeling like an unbridgeable moat.

“No one,” Mohinder replies flatly, standing still and resting his left hand on the table top next to his prepped microscope.

It is not necessary for Sylar to shift his eyes from Mohinder’s vacant stare to notice Mohinder’s unchallenging demeanor. No tapping sound is emitted from stilled fingers; there is no defiance that Sylar can recognize in his steadied face. Sylar counts the silent beats of time that pass with no fanfare.

“I’m surprised you repressed yourself this long,” Mohinder, mercifully to Sylar’s ears, speaks out loud even though the words are void of inflection or personal connection.

“What can I say—I gave it a shot,” Sylar jokes sarcastically, shrugging with his arms turned out.

“Mmmm, yes. Well, I knew it would be wrong to think it was only about acquiring more power,” Mohinder says, taking a small step back on his left foot before returning to his original position.

Sylar wills a smirk to his face as he attempts to settle into this previously unknown rhythm.

“I guess even I didn’t realize that it was as much about the—,”

“Bloodlust,” Mohinder interrupts with an unusually monotonous voice.

“The complete control over another life,” Sylar continues and he takes a few steps towards Mohinder, shrinking the physical gap while simultaneously expanding the far more telling one. “It wasn’t until I tried less painful ways that I truly came to appreciate every aspect of how I used to claim what should be mine. Do you know what it’s like to feel someone’s essence—their soul—exit their body and flow into you, permanently, no take backs?”

“I can’t say I ever desired such a feeling,” Mohinder counters and steps back allowing himself to lean forward while peering through the microscope at a recent cell sample from a newly discovered Special.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Sylar taunts, struck with disappointment at Mohinder’s casual display of ignoring the complexities of what he is saying. It is an unexpected slight that Sylar refuses to accept. “Then again, with a few exceptions, you were never really that interested in what was most fascinating…preferring the sterility of the lab and impersonal research—names on paper or listed on sample slides—theories hanging loosely in the air.”

Sylar watches Mohinder push back on his heels and stand tall, eyes directed ahead at some unknowable spot on the wall. After a few seconds Mohinder turns to look Sylar in the eyes.

“I don’t need you to care for my mundane life, although why you _put up with it_ for so long is a curiosity,” Mohinder says, the beginning indication of forceful emotion behind his words.

“For awhile it sufficed but—and don’t take this the wrong way Mohinder since I put up with you much longer than I have with most—you eventually came to bore me just like everybody else,” Sylar draws the harsh words out slowly making each word feel like a deliberately placed stab wound. “So much talking and wondering and analyzing. It was never as intriguing as you thought it was.”

Sylar notices the quiet but sharp intake of Mohinder’s breath but before he can assign a signifier to it, it disappears.

“It’s not as if our working together was anything beyond what was necessary,” Mohinder points out. “It was only a matter of time before you reverted back to your most base self.”

“A waste of both our time then,” Sylar utters, trying to put an end to Mohinder’s uncensored thoughts.

“So it would seem,” Mohinder answers the non-question.

Shoving his hands in his pant pockets Sylar tilts his head and turns his back, letting his stride carry him a few feet away and then returning him to Mohinder’s space. The metaphor made real, it is a movement that under other circumstances Sylar would have expressed as a notable observation to his, now, ex— friend, acquaintance, mistake, adversary. Now it has no place, no sense of belonging amidst the attack.

“I’m not the most social of people,” Sylar calls upon a condescending tone as his reproach stops far away enough to recognize the invisible barrier reconstructing itself from past experiences and present trials while being near enough to remind them of the wordless closeness that had come to define them once. “And yet you’re the one who keeps _disconnecting_ from those around you, Mohinder. Tell me, how many friends, _real friends_, do you have?”

Staying firm and unaffected with a rigid gaze, Mohinder does not blink.

“None, really,” Sylar answers his own question. “Don’t really make many easily, definitely can’t keep them—not even me and I’m…what did you call me all those years ago…a psychopath? And what does it say about you that it’s been years since you tried to put me down?”

Sylar leans forward breathing scalding cruelty along strips of exhaled air on Mohinder’s skin.

“I think _you’re_ the lost cause,” Sylar strikes, “and I’m done with managing it.”

Moving back Mohinder reaches out his left hand and rests it on top of the microscope. Starting to turn towards it he throws a quick look to Sylar.

“I believe you’ve said enough. I have work. You can show yourself out,” Mohinder comments and he looks back through his microscope. Picking up a pen he begins jotting down work notes.

Sylar gazes at Mohinder, seeing how quickly he falls back into his scientific world. The walk away is slow coming, bogged down in unrealized expectations, contained in the projected air of business as usual. At the bottom of the lab steps Sylar eyes the front door, his exit. He looks back to Mohinder, his name restlessly stuck on the tip of Sylar’s tongue. With effort he keeps his lips snapped shut, refusing to break this moment, and steps up.

Sylar knows this is the last conversation he will ever have with Mohinder.

At the front door Sylar takes his time pushing it open but he does not pause as he leaves.

The door shutting behind him reverberates through his head.

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

**_~ One Week Later ~   
_**  
“Then it’s done?” Peter asks patiently, taking in Sylar’s tense form sitting stiffly in the leather armchair in the middle of the study.

With no move to acknowledge Peter’s presence in the doorway, Sylar stares intently at the far wall while Peter shuts the door behind him.

“I said I’d do it,” Sylar answers with a chill in his voice that is unable to completely disguise the barely noticeable shake of emotion in his words.

His curiosity ablaze, Peter staunchly approaches the seated figure crossing into Sylar’s sightline while remaining a decent distance away. Conveying the power of their positions Peter rests partly on the front edge of the desk with his feet touching the ground and arms on either side, hands gripping the wood firmly. He keeps his eyes leveled with Sylar’s despite Sylar’s eyes burning through him.

“How did he react?” Peter asks.

Sylar ignores the question or does not hear it; Peter is unsure. He repeats the question.

“How did Mohinder react?”

Sylar’s eyes click into focus.

“This will do it right?” Sylar asks with a faint touch of panic in his tone.

In the middle of such a serious overarching challenge, Peter manages to smile mockingly enjoying, momentarily, Sylar’s unease.

“Did he hurt your feelings?” Peter chides derisively. “Was he as repulsed this time as when he first came to know you?”

Seeing Sylar clench his jaw, the muscles of his face and neck rigid and nearly mechanical, Peter continues his disdainful onslaught. “Poor Sylar. All these years thinking Mohinder was impressed by you—enamored even—how delusional.”

“Did it work?” Sylar demands through gritted teeth, refusing to be baited.

“He must have delivered quite a smack down…good for him,” Peter jeers with admiration for Mohinder.

“Actually he did nothing of the sort,” Sylar quips.

Surprised at the assertion Peter offers Sylar a confounded look.

“He took it in stride—expectantly,” Sylar explains distantly grasping his hands on his lap and twisting his fingers through and around each other, rubbing out the mark that is not there, and then placing his hands back on either armrest. “No fight.”

Peter’s expression falters at the genuineness of Sylar’s state.

“He didn’t...? But you told him—,” Peter wonders.

“Exactly what you said I needed to,” Sylar finishes the jumbled thought. “Apparently it didn’t take much—_any_—convincing.”

“Really?” Peter softly utters distractedly, his mind already elsewhere.

In a swift fluid movement Sylar is out of the chair and on his feet staring down at Peter who quickly stands up straight, accepting the confrontation.

“Let’s quit talking in circles, Petrelli. I did what you said had to be done. Did it work?”

Peter weighs his thoughts before answering. “I can’t say for sure yet. I’ll need to look. But—,”

Peter moves away from Sylar towards the floor to ceiling window and gazes outside as early evening descends on the city.

“In all the futures I’ve seen,” Peter casts his gaze towards Sylar’s watchful one, “Mohinder, unrecognizable from anything you know now—and those are the futures when he’s not already dead—all comes back to two things.”

Another brief glance out the window and Peter allows a forlorn sigh to escape his throat while he folds his arms across his chest as if trying to hold himself together. Looking to Sylar again Peter continues.

“His downfall is connected to: one—his remaining in New York during this upcoming year instead of accepting the new teaching position in India. And two—his constant contact with you.”

Sylar looks away, disturbed at the prophetic words. Peter refuses to let him lose sight of what they have tried to alter.

“Because the people who come after him and…it’s their way of getting to _you_. What they do to him to bring you down, to force you into their game—,”

“But now he’s safe?” Sylar asks insistently.

“He should be…after your meeting…it makes it easier to encourage him to return to India for the next year—or longer,” Peter shares.

Sylar turns away from Peter and lets his fingers tap along the desktop while walking around it, eyes half closed, murmuring.

“Mmmm, India,” Sylar hums to himself.

Peter understands the unconscious tone too well and abruptly snaps, “You can’t have any contact with him, Sylar!”

“What?” asks Sylar, when he is ripped out of his deepening thought.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” Peter reacts with mounting anger. “You can have absolutely no contact with him.”

“I know,” Sylar replies irritated.

“That means,” Peter steps quickly across the room into Sylar’s space and grabs his arm to ensure the full impact of his order, “You can’t look in on him or follow him to India. There will be no watching him from afar or making obvious inquiries about him. He does not exist for you.”

“I’m not some lovesick teenager,” Sylar retorts with disgust, peering irately at Peter’s chastising demeanor, and yanks his arm from Peter’s painful grip.

“That never stopped you from seeking him out before, over and over again. Different reasons same outcome. That’s the problem,” Peter argues. “You’ll get him killed.”

Clenching his fists Sylar stares down Peter’s accusing eyes before retreating furiously.

“I won’t follow him,” Sylar spits out walking away with his head down.

“Sylar—,” Peter calls out sternly.

“I won’t go near him!” Sylar booms turning around and startling Peter while letting deep breathing calm his body down. “It won’t be nearly as difficult as you think.”

Registering Peter’s staid resolute appearance Sylar offloads the scattered dejection still spiking his body.

“He couldn’t have been less surprised. Turns out, there’s not much to me. Predictable and unchanging,” Sylar discloses coarsely before reasserting himself. “Going near him is a bad habit I intend to break. Showing how little he thinks of…he should know better. His tunnel vision is just like his father’s.”

The fine lines on Sylar’s face, his disappointed eyes and pulled lips take on a harshness in Peter’s analytical gaze. Unable to read Sylar’s mind (not for lack of trying on Peter’s part, rather Sylar’s indomitable ability to put up a static wall) Peter can only guess at the level of Sylar’s confession. He does not know the extent of what went down between Mohinder and Sylar that has led to such an overwhelming frustration from the now gloomy man. Contemplating him Peter thinks it may be better to not know.

“Then this works out for you as well,” Peter suggests halfheartedly, not believing the supposition that Sylar nor himself are trying to convey.

“Definitely,” Sylar pronounces.

But he cannot hold Peter’s gaze and the firmness in his voice sounds put upon. In time Sylar will learn to convince himself of his own proclamations.

************ ********** ********** ********** **********   
**  
**_~ Six Months Later ~_**

“Looks like a full flight,” Mohinder announces with a bright smile while walking towards his friends.

Molly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to her opened knapsack and flipping through her Lonely Planet guidebook for India, jumps to her feet much to the amused eyes of Peter and Matt standing next to her.

“So we’ll have to visit the university so I can see where you’ll be lecturing and then meet all those uncles and aunts and cousins and your mom totally has to show me how she taught you to cook. How long does it take to travel in country? I absolutely have to see the Taj Mahal, and we have to take the train—with everyone in compartments. And then—,” Molly rushes her words in a total state of excitement.

“The first thing you may want to do is overcome your jetlag,” Mohinder grins.

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes Molly says, “How bad can it be?”

“Spoken like a true first time international flyer,” Mohinder replies.

Molly twists her mouth sarcastically as Matt clasps a friendly hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Molly. I promise we’ll do it all. We’ve got two months,” Mohinder kindly follows up, pleased at her excessive interest and anticipation for their summer together.

“Two months isn’t that long and then I have to come back—,” Molly frustratingly begins.

“But think how cool it will be to all the other kids that you spent your summer traveling through India? They’ll all be coming back from camp and you’ll get to start high school with India under your belt,” Matt suggests calmingly.

Mindlessly Molly fingers the dog-eared copy of the book in her hands.

“Mmmm, yeah I know,” she says quietly and looks at Mohinder with a perturbed expression.

Immediately noting the seriousness in her eyes Mohinder feels the instantaneous need to quell her concerns.

“Molly?” Mohinder asks but she does not answer, instead looking silently at the book in her hands.

Peter looks to Mohinder and, catching the worry in his face, focuses on Molly.

“You know Molly, any time you want to see Mohinder you only need to ask,” Peter says to her.

Quickly looking up at him a small smile trips up the corners of her lips.

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Of course,” Peter confirms with a lopsided grin.

Relieved to see Molly appeased Mohinder tries to lighten the mood.

“Oh no, there will be no flying Air Petrelli,” he jokes, vaguely mindful of the unspoken crush he knows Molly has developed on Peter over the last year. “At least not halfway around the world.”

Molly and Matt let out a surprised laugh at the joke and Peter pretends to look personally wounded.

“I resent that,” Peter defends himself after a chuckle. “Anyway, there is a faster way—,”

“No teleporting with Molly,” Mohinder interrupts quickly, this time his tone more firm.

“I’m not that bad,” Peter argues.

“The last time you tried it you ended up in Cairo,” Mohinder reminds him.

“So—,” Peter starts to say.

“You were aiming for Seattle,” Matt points out barely reigning in his broadening grin.

“Well…uh…I…have a few glitches to work out,” Peter admits as an intense blush reddens his face.

Mohinder, still chuckling, looks to Molly. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you can visit any time you want.”

They share a smile while a comfortable silence settles about the four in the middle of the noisy, bustling airport.

“I’m thirsty,” Molly declares picking up her knapsack and tossing her book inside.

“I could get a drink too,” Matt agrees and looks to Mohinder and Peter questioningly.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Mohinder says with a shake of his head and Peter does the same.

Watching Matt and Molly walk away Peter waits a thoughtful minute before speaking.

“That was nice of you to tell her she could visit any time considering it could be time consuming to actually organize it—the logistics of it.”

Mohinder hesitates and takes a deep breath before saying, “Sometimes we tell people what they need to hear. It makes it easier for them to let go.”

_Like Sylar.   
_  
At the thought that flashes through Mohinder’s mind Peter’s shocked eyes shoot over to Mohinder’s relatively serene ones.

“What?” Peter asks.

_You heard me_, Mohinder silently responds staring firmly at him.

Peter’s knee jerk reaction is to deny everything, but analyzing Mohinder’s expression he realizes there is no point, Mohinder is already two steps ahead of him.

“Did you know the entire time?”

Ignoring the question Mohinder puts his hands in his jacket pockets and eyes the packs of travelers milling about.

“That’s why you acted so unsurprised,” Peter mutters to himself.

“It’s difficult but—less hard for me to walk away if needed,” Mohinder finally says, looking back at Peter. “There’s a part of him I’ve seen that will try to hold on very strongly to what he wants…it was the only way to ensure that the break was final.”

Apprehension rests in the lined grooves of Peter’s face as he is caught off guard by the confession.

He turns to face Mohinder straight on and firmly questions, “Will he start killing again? Do I need to be concerned?”

Mohinder tilts his head back and gazes contemplatively at the high ceiling. A quiet sigh precedes his wordless response to Peter.

_No. He hasn’t done so yet. He’s going to want to prove I’m wrong about him—he wants to prove it to himself…that he’s his own person. That he’s better than our—than my—low expectations.   
_  
_Mohinder_, Peter’s unspoken voice penetrates Mohinder’s brain.

_He needs to despise me. You know that Peter. Let him.   
_  
Peter stares intently at Mohinder then looks anxiously around, overwhelmed by what he has held in so long, by what Mohinder seems to have come to terms with on his own.

“And you’re willing to go along with all of this?” questions Peter aloud.

“I don’t pretend to know what’s going on and that it doesn’t frustrate the hell out of me to be in the dark,” Mohinder admits. “But I have to believe it’s serious enough to garner such extreme actions. I won’t jeopardize that. I trust you. All of you.”

The mutual understanding that reaches out between them finds the shared middle ground of protective secrets that have come to represent one aspect of who they are since they first met.

“What are you fools talking about so cryptically?” Molly’s singsong voice calls out with a laugh.

Looking over both Peter and Mohinder recognize Matt’s penetrating stare and immediately blank their minds. Matt glares in response but says nothing.

“Just reminiscing,” Peter answers and Mohinder smiles as warmly as he can at Molly.

She gives him her best apathetic look and Mohinder knows he will be grilled on the plane so he better get his stockpiled answers ready. Glancing at his watch he notes the time.

“Time to go,” he says with the first trace of resignation in his voice.

The momentary awkwardness that follows soon gives way to a round of “so longs” and well wishes. Matt reaches out to shake Mohinder’s hand that leads into an impromptu hug between the old roommates. A contained smile rests on Molly’s face while Peter squeezes her in strong arms. Switching partners, Matt and Molly hug out a sweet, ‘I’ll see you soon,’ and Peter grabs Mohinder into a tight, unabashed embrace.

The impact of the goodbye hits Peter and Mohinder at the same time. Beyond the knowing years that brought them here are the tentatively written ones, ever erasable, that stretch out in front of them. They share the hope that their choices have been right, still there is the forever nagging voice that this could be it.

“Take care of yourself, Mohinder,” Peter whispers. “I’ll be looking out for you.”

“I know,” Mohinder quietly says smiling into Peter’s friendly warmth.

_Look out for him too, Peter. _

_I will.   
_  
Mohinder unexpectedly feels a tugging on his jacket, pulling him out of the hug, and looks to see Molly looking up at him.

“Challo!” she grins excitedly, already using any words (Hindi, Tamil and the such) that she has learned from Indian classmates.

“Okay, okay, India here we come,” Mohinder jokes and gets a hold of his carry on.

Another chorus of goodbyes rings out and before Mohinder turns away he exchanges a last look with Peter. His expectant gaze receives a subtle head nod.

Mohinder throws his arm around Molly’s shoulders and they begin their walk to passport control.

Mohinder fights to not look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Heroes Slash Awards  
> **Nominated for Best Mohinder Characterization** (WINNER)  
> **Nominated for Best Angst Fic** (RUNNER UP)
> 
> Mylar Fic Awards  
> **Nominated for Best Angst** (RUNNER UP)


End file.
